Bride for a Night(35)

He gave her fingers a light squeeze before allowing them to drop. “The clothes are a gift, not charity, and as a Frenchman renowned for his exquisite sense of fashion I had no choice but to rid the world of your tattered rags.”

“Hardly a rag.”

He waved aside her protest, his dark eyes shimmering with a wicked amusement that could tempt a saint.

“Besides, you are my guest. It is my duty, as well as my pleasure, to ensure you are provided with all the comforts you might desire.”

“I am your prisoner, not your guest.”

“Prisoner?” He lifted his brows in a pretense of innocence. “There are no bars on the windows and no shackles holding you against your will.”

“It is beneath you to pretend that I am here of my own free will,” she chastised.

“Come, ma petite,” he coaxed, skimming a finger down her cheek. “It has not been such a terrible adventure, has it?”

She jerked from his touch, her eyes narrowing at his patronizing tone.

“I have been bullied and coerced and manipulated by others my entire life, Monsieur Gerard,” she said between clenched teeth. “I had foolishly hoped I might have found a place where I could control my own destiny, as well as friends who appreciated my independence, when I arrived at Carrick Park.”

A brief flash of regret shot through his eyes before he cupped her chin in his hand and regarded her with a resolute expression.

“Oui, it was a foolish hope. You were never destined to enjoy your independence for long.”

She frowned. “There is no need to mock me.”

“Talia, use that considerable intelligence of yours,” he commanded.

“What do you mean?”

“You could not have remained alone at Carrick Park.”

“I do not comprehend why not,” she protested. “It seemed a satisfactory arrangement.”

His lips twisted. “For you perhaps, but I can assure you that your husband would soon have been joining you in Devonshire. Or demanding that you return to London.”

She stiffened at the mention of Gabriel. She had done her best not to think of her husband since those first hours after her kidnapping when she had ridiculously held on to a hope that he would come charging to her rescue. As if he would bother himself to chase after his unwanted wife even if he had known she was taken hostage. She was such a fool.

“Nonsense.” Her voice held a bitter edge she could not entirely disguise. “He was quite happy to be rid of me.”

Jacques regarded her as if she were impossibly na?ve. “No, he wished to punish your father for having dared to threaten him,” he said. “Once he is assured that he has established his dominance over you, and, more important, Silas Dobson, he will be anxious to claim his wife.”

A treacherous memory of how Gabriel had already claimed her in the rumpled sheets of her bed briefly seared through her mind. Then, with a gasp, she hastily thrust aside the unwelcome image. What the devil was the matter with her?

“You know nothing of the situation.” She took an awkward step away from her companion, thankful he could not read her thoughts. “Gabriel is eager to forget we were ever wed.”

His eyes narrowed. “Even if such a ridiculous notion were true, he cannot forget you.”

“Why not?”

“Because you are the Countess of Ashcombe, not some commoner’s wife.”

“I am aware of my title,” she said tartly. Her wedding might have been a bleak affair, but she had no doubt that it had been perfectly legal. Had Gabriel not returned for the wedding night just to ensure…